Avalanche
by OmoMeowth
Summary: Has Mike's entire life been a lie? As he questions his relationship with Sandy, he begins to wonder what it is he truly wants and who he is. Can he find happiness? Or will he forever live in the shadow of his doubt and fear?
1. Gravel

Avalanche

Chapter 1: Gravel on the Mountain

"I'm taking my pants off…" There is a shuffling over the phone. "And now… the shirt!"

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm. And now, I'm sliding… down… my underwear." She always sounds so happy. "The bra is next… Are you liking this, Maishul?"

"Yeah," he responds softly.

"I'm letting my hair down now… probably should have done that first… Okay, I'm lying down now. Ahhh…"

"Alright… are you… doing anything in particular… now that you're lying down?"

"Mmhm. I'm… grabbing my breast… and I'm moving it around slowly. Very softly."

"… Yeah?"

"They're very soft… I'm touching myself on the nipple, rubbing it slowly."

Mike swallows hard. "Uhhuh."

"My hand is on my tummy now… and I'm starting to move it down."

"… Are you wet?"

"I think so… let me check." She teases. "… Yes, very. And now I'm… slowly sliding my finger… in and out."

"Okay." My breathing is picking up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm touching myself… and thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

"… You."

"What about me?"

"A-about how I want to… touch you. How I want to straddle and hold you." I'm whispering.

"Mmhm." Sandy's breath becomes labored.

"I'm thinking about how I wish I could be there, or have you here… About how I want to lay you down, and nibble on your ear." He is beginning to breathe heavier. "About how I want to be the one grabbing that beautiful chest. Touching those delicate nipples."

"I wish you could, Mike. Please go on."

"I want to put my finger in you and find out if you're wet myself. I don't want to have to be told."

"Hmm." She moans."

"I want to… squeeze your butt and feel your arms around me… as I put mine around you."

"Yes, Maishul."

"I want to… to taste you."

"… What do you want to taste?"

"Everything."

He lied through his teeth. Love, masturbation… it was all a lie. In reality, he couldn't be less interested. He had tried to force it. He had faked physical attraction, faked orgasm, and lately, even faked love.

His phone calls with Sandy had become a burden. Not only had he grown tired of talking to her, she had begun to pressure him into more sexual exploration. She explained it was added stress, that she needed a release, but it was torture to Mike. Faking, lying, and suppressing the dark thoughts in his mind: he had begun to fear her calls. What was once a source of relief had become a new outlet of stress.

He wished she wouldn't bother him so much, but whenever the thought crossed his mind, he realized how rarely she did. How much did they talk? A couple times a week. How often did they have phone sex? Once a week, if he was feeling generous. There was no denying it; he had a significantly lower sex drive than most boys his age. Most would be pressuring her for more, praising her for her erotic tendencies.

However, a lower sex drive didn't exactly explain all of his problems. It didn't explain the change in their relationship. It didn't explain how the closeness they had once shared evaporated. Or maybe it was just him. Sandy seemed happy, although a bit ignored. A pang of guilt always went through him on the thought. Was he tearing apart their relationship? Maybe.

After faking an orgasm and helping Sandy reach what he suspected to be a real one, he hung up the phone and went to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, breath minty, ready to sleep. He set his alarm and climbed into bed.

Despite his eagerness, sleep did not come easily. He stared into the darkness, occasionally forcing his eyes closed, but always allowing them to open again. It wasn't that he enjoyed admiring the dankness of his room, but rather whenever his eyes closed, he saw that same orange fur. It was always that same shade, too. Bright, but not distracting or tacky. Warm, inviting, thick…

His eyes opened again and he looked around the room, anger forming in his chest. He sighed heavily. Why did he keep thinking about him? Why did he keep thinking about… guys? It had to involve Sandy. Yes, that was it. It was his relationship trouble. The anger grew more intense.

_"Yes. That is it. That is all. Go to sleep. You're just… you're confused with Sandy and stuff. You don't know what is going on. It doesn't mean anything."_

_ "You had this problem long before you met Sandy."_

_ "No, no, no, no. I didn't. I haven't had this problem. I don't even have a problem. Just because I think of guys doesn't mean I'm gay." _The word echoed in his mind.

_ "You can't get off to girls."_

_ "So? So? That doesn't mean anything. I don't have a very strong sex drive. That's it."_

_ "You're making excuses."_

_ "Shut up! Please, just stop thinking about this!"_

"God damn it!" Mike said under his breath as he sat up. "You're not gay. You're not gay. You're not gay. You're not gay. Think about it, that doesn't make sense. I mean… it is okay if someone is gay. That's fine. No one should be scared of being gay. There isn't anything wrong with it. It's just, you aren't. If you were, you'd be honest, right?"

He felt his chest tighten. He didn't understand what he was feeling. He didn't know what he was thinking. He kept seeing that same orange fur in his mind, and sometimes, other thoughts would slip in. He would see erotic positions, poses, and other men. He couldn't stop it. They just forced their way into his conscious thought, and he hated it. Steadily, he had grown to resent himself, and he wasn't even sure why.

He stood up and started pacing. He imagined telling his friends he was gay, how they would react. Paulo would probably ride him about it for the rest of his life.

"_Ride me."_

Lucy would laugh at him… or would she? Maybe she would understand. Maybe she would even feel better.

"It doesn't matter anyway!" He said under his breath. "I'm not gay! J-just stop thinking about it!" He covered his face with his hands before wrapping them both around his stomach and leaning forward.

It has to be a phase. I can't possibly… be that way. It just isn't true. What about Lucy? You've always been attracted to Lucy. She has a nice butt, doesn't she? Doesn't she have great breasts? Doesn't she? Don't those things mean anything to you? What is wrong with you? She is beautiful. You loved her. You wanted her. How could you be gay? Ha, it just doesn't make sense. I can't be gay.

Mike stood up and looked around.

"Water."

The liquid was cold – exactly what he needed. He set his glass on the kitchen counter and stood, distraught, for several moments.

"Look, Mike." He whispered to himself. "It is just a phase. It has always been a phase. You have Sandy. Just be happy. Let it be like it used to be. Stop complicating things with sex. Maybe that is it. Yes. Maybe it is just the phone sex."

"_You're lying to yourself."_


	2. Nostalgia

Chapter 2: Nostalgia

There was a steady pitter-patter against his window as he scribbled his name on a blank sheet of paper. He sighed. Lately, he had grown to detest homework. There had been a time when it served as an escape; it allowed him just a few moments to be free from life and its worries; yet, now that he actually had worries to avoid, it seemed to do the opposite. It turned his mind into a magnet, eager to suck in any form of self-pity or misery that it could reach.

He managed to go a minute before sighing again. The page was still blank.

"Come on…" He rubbed his temples and rested his elbows on the table. "I wish I'd gotten some more sleep." Another sigh slipped out. He didn't want to think about the night before.

The rain faded away as his pencil scratched at the paper. He wrote, on and off, for almost fifteen minutes. The end result was nothing special, but it was at least… acceptable. Mike stood up. He knew he there was a lot more to say and that he had delayed the essay enough, but he needed a break. He needed to clear his mind. Get a better perspective on things.

He pushed-in his chair and retreated downstairs. He went through the kitchen and exited through the back door. His backyard was small, but it was big enough. There was a white table, parasol, and chair sitting on the moist stone blocks at his feet. He admired the way the droplets of rain delicately clung to the furniture; it added beauty to things otherwise meaningless. He walked toward the edge of the steps and looked toward the sky. Yes, the rain had stopped.

"Mmmmm." He purred. The air smelled heavily of pine and was a perfect blend of warmth and coolness. It was a large improvement from the clammy blanket of heat and choking scent of exhaust of which the air was normally comprised. He stared at the large tree in his backyard, coated in bright, green leaves. He imagined that was the source of the nostalgic aroma.

It reminds me of when my mom would take me – and sometimes Lucy – up to the video game store. I'd take forever picking something out, and when I did, I would think of nothing else but that game until I could get home to play it. There was nothing better in the world than that feeling. To know I had hours of entertainment ahead. That I would be completely without boredom or stress.

"God…" He could barely hear his own voice.

He took deep breaths, trying to take in as much of the scent as he could. He didn't want it to leave him. It was the only connection he had to those times, and he desperately wanted them back.

"_The worst things in the world were so trivial… Now, the only things in the world are trivial."_

"Michael?"

He turned his head and looked back at his mom.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just getting some fresh air. It's nice out here."

"Oh. You're okay, right, honey?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You've just been acting a little odd lately… You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"_Has it really been that obvious?"_

"Yeah, I know. But don't worry, I'm fine!"

"…Okay. I'll be inside if you need anything."

"Thanks, mom."

"Love you, hon."

"Love you too." Mike turned away and looked back at the sky. He wondered if his mom was watching him from the door. Pondering what he found so fascinating about that tree, or that sky; but when he turned around, she was gone.

He returned to his room several minutes later. The page had a few paragraphs on it, but there was still a lot of work to do. He sighed and sat down at his desk. The rain started again: first, a slow pitter-patter, and soon a heavy downpour.

Mike stared blankly out the window. He could see himself, Paulo standing at his back. The Somali's long arms wrapped around him, embracing him in a warm, compassionate hug. Mike knew the thought was sick, but curiosity and exhaustion got the best of him. He didn't interfere with his imagination. Paulo inhaled deeply, taking in Mike's scent.

"I know you can do it, Mike. You're a really smart guy. That's why…" Another deep breath. " … I like you so much." Paulo's voice was soft and sweet.

Mike felt something growing in his chest as his breath picked up.

Paulo nuzzled him on the neck.

"_Is it anger?"_

He started to kiss him tenderly.

"_Is it fear?"_

His tongue started to moisten his fur.

"_Maybe it's hate."_

A hand was sliding across his hip.

"_Could it be something else?"_

The fingers touched him. The chair became a bed.

"_No, it isn't."_

Paulo climbed on top of him.

"_It isn't one of those things."_

Their lips impacted.

"_It is all of them."_

"I'm not gay." Mike whispered to himself. He felt his arousal hidden beneath the desk. "I'm not gay." He started stroking himself. "I'm not gay." He started going a little faster. "I'm not gay."

He stopped.

He returned to writing his paper.


	3. Mirror Mirror

Chapter 3: Mirror Mirror

He silenced his alarm clock and opened his eyes. It was Monday. Finally time to go back to school. Every muscle in his body protested as he forced himself out of bed. He sat there, his thoughts begging for him to give up and lie back down, but he ignored them and walked toward the bathroom. Standing there, staring into his mirror, he met a pair of eyes. They were bloodshot and lethargic. He wrapped his arms around his chest as he leaned against the wall of the bathroom, taking a few moments to collect himself.

He flicked on the light and his eyes squinted in pain. After relieving himself, he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, and quickly combed his fur. Once again, he looked up at the big mirror and saw himself. It was a disgusting sight. On the surface, there was cleanliness and uniformity, but through the cracks there were the eyes of monster. Watching life go by, wishing for freedom like a bird in a cage. There was a sickening contrast between the two people. Between whom he pretended to be and who he was.

As he walked down the stairs, a crippling sense of depression and dementia seemed to consume him. The things around him blurred together and a small smile, visible only to him, formed on his lips. For so long he had tried to suppress the beast within him. He had tried to deny himself the most natural pleasures in life, only to achieve a far more shallow existence. Steadily, the monster of misery which lurked in the deepest recess of his mind – No! _was_ the deepest recess of his mind – had begun to lash out in anger. It hacked away at the ego which scrutinized and lied; it tried to tear itself free of the flesh which bounded it, even if it meant death.

Mike picked up his backpack and left, locking the door behind him. He stood for several seconds, staring at the doorknob, almost forgetting where he was. He snapped out of his trance and began his walk to school.

The sky was a deep shade of blue, filled with gray, billowy clouds. Behind him, there was a giant inferno rising above the horizon, spreading like a wildfire, destroying all that which attempted once to imprison the light. As his walk progressed, the fire did as well. Soon, it looked as if the entire planet were being engulfed, that he was next in this wave of malevolence and suffering. But the suffering never came. The malevolence was never seen. The wave came and blanketed the world in warmth, providing life - not death - to all which existed. It did not eliminate the indulgences of man, but rather abolished their poisons.

When his walk finally came to end, he looked up at the school, feeling as if it was the first time he had ever truly seen it. He looked around and found a two-dimensional existence staring back. What a sickening world which he grown attached. He entered the establishment and went straight to class. He sat down at his desk and relaxed, sliding in and out of a fitful sleep-like state. It only lasted about ten minutes before the bell rang and had to bring up his head, to listen the endless chattering of the teacher.

He had hoped that the repetitious lectures and boring review would help distract him from his frightful inner thoughts, but it did just the opposite. It mixed with the exhaustion and bored him into a fantasy world occupied by the very things he feared most. The more he tried to purge the thoughts, the more they came. All he could think of was Paulo: his laugh, his smile, his… body.

"_What's wrong with you? Why're you thinking of him?"_

"_Because I want too…"_

"_No, we know that's a lie. No."_

"_Then why...?"_

"_Michael loves him." _Mocking.

"_I don't love him."_

"_You love him, Maishul."_

"_It's Sandy's fault. She is the reason I'm unhappy. But… that doesn't make sense. No. If I was truly unhappy, wouldn't I just want to break up? I know it wouldn't make me happy. If anything, it would only make me feel worse, even… gayer. And if I am? And if I am gay? I don't care; it is fine to be gay."_

"_You don't believe that."_

"_What? I don't think there is anything wrong with gays."_

"_Then why won't you admit it?"_

"_Because I am not gay!"_

Mike covered his face with his hands and put his head on the desk. He needed to sleep. He didn't care that it was rude, or that he would get a bad grade or anything like that. He needed his mind to stop. He couldn't stand the constant interrogation. The constant torture.

"_How could I love him anyway? I hate Paulo, he is an asshole. Well, I don't… hate him. I just don't like him. But, don't I hate him? He is an asshole, yes, but, is that reason to hate him? He isn't that bad of a guy, even if we have our differences. Then why? What about him infuriates me so much? Why do I hate him?"_

It was a long time ago when it happened, sometime back in middle school during winter. We were all hanging out together, like we used too. He, Lucy, Daisy, David, and I. We were all walking around in the park, making jokes to each other; until one of us – probably Lucy – pointed something out about Paulo's tail. It seemed to move a lot. Whenever he told a story, got excited, got startled, or did anything, it moved. It started off as a dumb little thing, but it picked up momentum.

I particularly relished the event. It was rare I ever had a chance to pick on _him._ I continued making jokes about it, unclever little quips about how animated it was.

"And then Boom!" I imitated him telling some sort of tall tale. "Bwawawaaw!" And I shook my arm, using it as a mock tail.

Paulo grew annoyed with the third degree. He crossed his arms, pouted, blushed, and stomped his feet in anger. He always did have the cutest temper tantrums. Maybe that was part of the reason I was having so much fun.

Finally, I took it too far. I made the last crack of the day; and Paulo, not knowing how to handle the anger inside of him, lunged at me. He didn't want to hurt me, nor do I think he had the courage to do it, so he pinned me down. I was facing the snow, pinned down by his body.

At first I was caught off-guard, but I soon realized what was happening. I could hear him saying something to me, but I don't remember the words. All I remember is his warm breath tickling my ear. I could feel his fur rubbing against mine. I could even feel the warmth of his genitals right above my butt. An incredible bolt of confusion consumed me. I was enjoying his body on mine, a lot. I thought about all the times I had looked at him, maybe caught a glance of bottom as he was bending over, or peaked in between his legs as he climbed a tree.

I struggled to get free. What had once been enjoyment had become a nightmare. I could feel panic washing over me. He told me I had to apologize to him, or he wouldn't let me up. I wasn't thinking, so I continued to struggled and command him off. He kept me down. I couldn't get him off in my position. Finally, I gave up and apologized to him, but he kept me down. He wanted me to say it would never happen again. I told him it wouldn't, feeling nothing but contempt.

I hated him after that.


End file.
